Demons Don't
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: One of Chikara's number fell during 'You Only Live Twice'. His colleagues contemplate that loss on several different levels.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Set after Chikara's May 2014 Pay-Per-View 'You Only Live Twice.'_

* * *

**DEMONS DON'T**

Demons didn't pray. They didn't grieve or feel loss. They didn't. But Kodama and Obariyon felt pain, like a blade was tearing through them. They felt as though they were bleeding without end. It rattled their bones and made their teeth throb.

Was that grief? Was it loss?

* * *

UltraMantis Black found a suitable hillock to stand on and planted his staff there. His fingers toyed with his beaded necklace as he studied the sky. Yes, this was good. The atmosphere felt thin and malleable.

He drew symbols in the air with flourishing fingers and when finally satisfied, plucked a well-thumbed book from the folds of his coat and began muttering under his breath. What was the right incantation when considering the soul of a demon? Hallowicked and Frightmare had decided to stay away – Hallowicked had wanted to keep an eye on Icarus and his monstrous concussion and Frightmare had wanted to keep an eye on Hallowicked. Yes, in these Flood-ridden times, it was best not to walk anywhere alone.

UltraMantis Black was never alone of course; he was always in the presence of certain spirits.

Kobald had been part of an unpleasant sectionof UltraMantis Black's past; when that cur Sinn Bodhi had demanded the Eye of Tyr and upon UltraMantis Black's refusal, had turned the Batiri who had instantly overwhelmed UltraMantis Black. But light had emerged from that darkness – Hallowicked, so long from UltraMantis Black's side, and Frightmare had helped UltraMantis fight back against the Dark Army. They had been with him ever since. So he had something profound to thank Kobald for.

Finding a suitable page, UltraMantis Black began.

* * *

_Hear me, Sekhmet, Menhit, and Mehit, grant us strength of hand and foot, grant us power and rage to defeat those that oppose us, grant us your divine protection._

The gods hadn't told Ophidian about this. He hadn't been prepared for a colleague's death, a fellow soldier falling so drastically. The gods must have known but it was unlikely that they would have considered Kobald one of their own so why would they have told Ophidian of what was to happen to the goblin? Still it had affected Ophidian and Amasis, it had affected the gods' children. It would have been helpful to have been prepared. Perhaps then they could have prevented Kobald's fall, perhaps though that would have ended badly for them too. Perhaps that was why the gods hadn't said anything – they'd lost children before and didn't wish to again.

Ophidian could understand that. He didn't want to become lost again either.

_May Menthu guide us through this war, may we strike hard, may we be victorious in our vengeance._

Ophidian could clearly remember the months that he'd spent battling Amasis, the constant rage and the voices of certain gods clawing at him in the darkness, sharpening his physical gifts and consuming him mentally. It had taken being locked in a sarcophagus and a subsequent trip through the underworld to put him back in balance again. He couldn't regret who he'd been but he knew who he was now, who he was meant to be. Perhaps that time of rage was always supposed to have been part of his journey.

Now, he drew his white hood up and nodded at Amasis. The gods were listening and the Osirian Portal had stories to lay before them, stories of demons who had, for the first time since their creation, chosen light over darkness, stories of a titan who couldn't be toppled and a Flood that needed to be stemmed. Surely such things were of interest to the gods, why else had Ophidian been sent back?

_We fight in your name, mighty Osiris, may we lift it high, may we bring you triumph and honor, may your strength and devastation fell our enemies._

Traditionally at this point, a sacrifice would have been made but in this case there was no need – a warrior had already fallen after all. Child of the gods or not, that _had_ to count for something.

* * *

The hospital chapel was small and quiet. Mike Quackenbush had been sitting there for a while, his cane still in his hand. His tie was unknotted and he'd already undone the top few buttons of his shirt. He'd called Robbie to let Chikara's new owner know what had happened since an abundance of_ tecnicos_ had rushed to the hospital. There'd been no good news.

Mike had known that it was going to be tough, facing down the Flood. But Chikara had had the fans, the Chikarmy, on their side, and they'd had a strong team of_ tecnicos_, determined to fight for Chikara. They still had all of those things but the Flood? They had sheer power and the shock of that titanic figure. Just a man? Not like any Mike had ever seen and he'd wrestled all over the world. Not even UltraMantis Black had been able to explain who or what the creature had been.

The creature had struck down Kobald. Mike didn't think he was ever going to forget how limp Kobald's body had gone or how raw Kodana and Obariyon's screams had been. After Icarus' awesome victory over Eddie Kingston, it had been a shocker of an ending to the show. Mike was Chikara's newest Director of Fun but there'd been nothing even remotely fun about that moment.

His leg was only aching a little but he felt emotionally wrung-out. It had been a long day and it wasn't over yet. There were people he needed to call and he needed to locate Kadama and Obariyon to see if there was anything that he could do for them. He was going to do his best to get them booked in a match against members of the Flood soon; he couldn't see Robbie being against the idea. They should have the chance to get a little vengeance, or a lot.

Mike wasn't any kind of spiritual believer, everything that he'd achieved in life he'd built himself from the ground up without any help from on high. But here, in a tiny hospital chapel, for the first time since leaving the arena, he felt as though he could stop and actually rest. It wasn't going to last forever, he'd promised himself that he'd only switch his phone off for half an hour at most. But he'd take what he could get. Who knew when he'd next get the chance to rest alone like this?

Mike closed his eyes, the space behind them aching as several dozen worries waited to be addressed, and let go of his cane.

* * *

Demons were forces of darkness, seeking only to hurt others and wreak destruction. They were malicious, violent, and powerful; they felt rage as they fought and vicious satisfaction at whatever they achieved. They were frequently consumed with greed for more; more violence, more destruction, more misery being spread, more people falling at their hands.

Demons didn't cry or feel pain, except for when they did.

_-the end_


End file.
